


Orange You Glad?

by florfering



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Klance secret santa, M/M, SO, but its here and its gAY, dont quite remember if this was inspired by a tumblr post or a dream, look another 2k crack fluff fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9070084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florfering/pseuds/florfering
Summary: Keith comes home to a super soaker, five cartons of orange juice, and a declaration of war from his husband. 
A story about a life-or-death battle held in the McClain-Kogane household during the holiday season.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmathephoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=emmathephoenix).



> Happy Holidays!! This is my present for my Klance Secret Santa, for @emmathephoenix! honestly this took me a while to write, like I kept on rewriting and changing the plot from one prompt to another but then Christmas slapped me in the face and I was like "shit my fic's not done yet" so here it is! I just took my latest prompt and sped wrote for it until it was done and I have to say,
> 
> orange juice

“Lance, I’m home,” Keith calls out as he opens the door. He expects to be greeted by incessant chatter about how Lance’s day went along with a possible fragrance of something cooking ever since they both agreed about six years ago that Lance would do all the cooking since Keith couldn’t cook for shit. Neither of those things happens, though, and strangely enough, only one light is on in their guest room.

Keith closes the door behind him and locks it, approaching the lamp cautiously and tensing up in case something happened, like a burglar coming into their house. But as he comes closer to the bright inviting light, he can make out a Super Soaker and what seems to be cartons of orange juice. Keith is needless to say, incredibly confused, but then he spots the note resting on the side of the lamp. He opens it up.

_Dear Keith, my sweet honey angel of a husband who probably thought our house was robbed when he walked in,_

Is he really that predictable?

_The time of the holiday season is here, and with it comes going to Coran’s house in a week for his yearly Chrismukkah et al dinner™ and today is the day where we decide who has to stomach the brunt of Coran’s cooking at the dinner through an orange juice battle._

Keith shivers. Even the thought of Coran’s cooking brings him painful flashbacks of burnt remains of food that he could swear was moving. His cooking is bad, yes, but Coran’s is worse somehow, and that’s an achievement in of and itself.  

_Anyway, with that incentive in mind, here are the rules:_

  * _Don’t turn the lights on!_
  * _Don’t worry about getting orange juice all over the furniture! I covered all of it in plastic :))_
  * _Your only ammo is those five cartons of orange juice. Don’t steal mine because that’s mean >:(_



_Got it? Ok, now to start the game, load in your ammo into your weapon. Once you’re done, turn on your phone timer to exactly one (1) hour and then when you’re ready, turn off the lamp and start the timer. Whoever’s the most soaked when the timer runs out is the loser._

_Good luck! You’re going to need it ;)_

_P.S. You might want to take off your jacket or something. It’d be a shame to ruin your work clothes. I pulled some proper orange juice battle clothes out of your closet if you want to change into it. Don’t worry, I won’t look. :P_

His husband’s such a little kid at times, but that’s what makes him so endearing. Keith chuckles and fills up his weapon with orange juice, stashing away the rest of it for when he needs to reload. He does change out and feels his chest get all warm and fuzzy from Lance thinking to give him a change of clothes.

He knows that because the furniture is covered in plastic if he steps or sits on them, it’ll make a sound, which is the only indicator of his and Lance’s position in this dark December night, so he needs to be wary of the furniture.

Another thing is his attack plan. How is he going to get through this without getting hit by orange juice? He has a vague plan thrown together—to hide behind the big pieces like couches and tables and just start hunting for Lance, who isn’t really all that stealthy. He should be easy to find, then.

He finishes loading up his Super Soaker, and starts his timer, clicking the lamp off. As he turns it off, he hears a giggle and fights the excited grin trying to make its way onto his face.

It’s a lost cause.

He slowly makes his away across the living room, ears straining for any sound of Lance. His footsteps, his breathy giggles, anything to give his position away. His heart is strangely thumping in his chest even though all he’s doing is slowly travelling across a dark room filled with plastic covered furniture. Well, when he puts it like that it sounds a little odd, to say the least.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

Keith steadies his own breathing, trying to get it at an almost inaudible level. He’s in the middle of scoping out the kitchen when he hears it. A fast patter of socks against the hardwood floor, to his left and very, very close.

He jumps to his right, twisting his body around so that he’s facing the opposite direction, the source of the sound. He fires off four quick shots in rapid succession, and he hears them land, but on what is the true question. Did he hit Lance?

A quiet curse and quick footsteps running away are all he hears, and all he needs to hear before he’s crouching behind the breakfast counter. His eyes have adjusted to that darkness at this point, and he can see the faint outline of the kitchen furniture and layout.

He gives himself a little time to smile at getting in the first shot before his guard’s up and he’s ready to get back in.

He stays low, and makes his way to the house again, looking for Lance. He seems to have gone either upstairs or down into the basement, and because Lance is convinced that there’s a ghost living in the basement, Keith decides to take his chances and go up the steps one by one.

It’s a bad idea considering there’s no cover in the stairwell besides the railing so Keith attempts to take a plate to protect himself only to find that the cabinet doors have been plastic wrapped shut. Keith has no idea how Lance did it but he knows that he spent a long time wrapping them and all the furniture and feels a swell of pride in his chest. Why he feels that at cabinet doors covered with plastic wrap until he can’t open them is a mystery but it happens nonetheless.

With no protection from the orange juice and only his Super Soaker in hand, Keith climbs the stairs. At the second to last step, he sees it before he hears it. Lance was waiting for him at the top. Keith tries to dive and hide so that he’s blocked by the stair railing but Lance gets in a couple hits before he’s running.

So Lance is using hit-and-run tactics. Keith should have figured that out by now considering that Lance always had a plan when it came to video games and such while Keith usually just charged and won through pure brute force and button mashing. Well, to each their own, he guesses.

The orange juice is room temperature at this point, which is kind of gross to think about it so Keith ignores the wet feeling of the orange juice on his shirt and continues climbing.

The two go back and forth between trading shots. By the time the end is drawing near, Keith’s covered with a layer of sticky orange juice and he’s beginning to regret for his future self who has to clean up the whole mess. He knows that Lance will somehow make it into a competition but he also knows that he’ll have a great time because of Lance.

That thought brings a smile to his face and he just can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest again.

He’s in the kitchen and had shed his socks a long time ago. He proved to be weak to the feeling of walking in liquid with his socks and had taken off his candy cane patterned fleece socks about halfway through. It isn’t really helpful when he was trying to sneak around, but then again, it’s hard to be stealthy when you accidentally brush up against plastic.

Keith’s about to go on the hunt again when he hears a “Boo,” from behind him, with Lance’s breath ghosting on his neck. He freaks the fuck out and lets out a yell that he knows Lance will make fun of.

Keith jumps back, losing his balance. He shoots out a hand to steady himself on the kitchen counter, but the surface is covered in more orange juice and he loses his grip. He yelps as he falls again, landing on his ass.

He can hear Lance laughing and he’s got to admit, once he gets past the throbbing pain in his tailbone, it’s pretty funny.

Lance turns the light back on, and Keith hisses at the sudden onslaught of light. Once his eyes adjust, he sees a Lance with his clothes completely soaked in orange juice like him, an empty carton in one hand and his weapon in the other. He puts down his Super Soaker and offers a hand to Keith, giggles still shaking his shoulders a little, and Keith takes it, their rings brushing against each other.

“Well, I would think that’s a tie,” Keith says, pulling himself up on Lance’s hand but never really letting go. There’s really no difference in how much orange juice is on their clothes. But then Keith sees a glint in Lance’s eyes, and suddenly, he fears for his life.

It happens so quickly. Lance changes his grip on his hand so that he’s holding his wrist instead and pulls Keith against his chest. Apparently, the empty carton of orange juice isn’t as empty as he thinks, and Lance pours the rest of the contents all over Keith’s head, effectively drenching him. Some of it got on Lance’s front, but it’s nothing compared to the orange juice soaking Keith’s hair and clothes.

By the time Keith fully absorbs everything that’s happened, Lance had let go and sprinted into another room. Laughter follows him and Keith sees red.

_“Lance!”_ Keith yells. Lance is fast, yes, but Keith used to be the captain of his high school track team and he hasn’t lost his agility.

He can hear a distant “Oh, _shit_ ,” and runs faster. He hears Lance running up the stairs and follows suit, slipping on some stray orange juice every now and then, but he doesn’t let that slow him down. He takes the stairs two, three at a time and before he knows it, he’s almost caught up to Lance, who’s running into their bedroom, presumably to lock himself inside to save himself.

Keith is _not_ going to let that happen, and with one last burst of speed, he manages to burst through the door that Lance almost closed. He falls into Lance, who yells in surprise. Keith pins his arms under his hands, ass seated on his hips, weight keeping him trapped.

“H-hey, now, Keith,” Lance says. Lance had turned on the light when he ran into the room, letting Keith see the full extent of the effects of their little game. Lance has some orange juice sticking tufts of his hair together, and exertion is heaving his chest. A defensive smile is tugging at his lips, and when Lance grins that slightly nervous, slightly triumphant—yet _adorable_ —smile at him, Keith feels his rage melt away. It isn’t as if he really was all that mad anyway.

So Keith takes his own revenge and shakes his hair, letting the droplets land on Lance. He hears Lance squawk and giggles. When he’s done, he looks back down and sees Lance smiling fondly up at him, and when Lance catches his eye, he lifts his chin. “Look up, sweetheart.”

And so Keith does. He trusts Lance to not throw him off, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. However that doesn’t happen, and instead, Keith sees the little sprig of mistletoe that Lance lovingly hung up at some point earlier in the week. Keith snorts at it.

“Lance, it isn’t even the week of Christmas yet.” Keith levels his gaze back with Lance, who waggles his eyebrows.

“But it’s December, and that means that I can be _festive._ ”

Again, his husband’s such a little kid at times, but that’s what made him so endearing. Keith rolls his eyes but has a small smile on his face and leans down to press his lips against Lance’s. It tastes kind of sweet kind of sour, but overall, it just tastes like oranges.

When they separate, Lance has this dopey grin and he looks like an idiot. But Keith feels himself smile back at him in spite of it.


End file.
